Tree of Shadow
by ssquirrel21
Summary: A mysterious guild kidnaps a desperate traveler, who's life is reduced to shambles by past experiences. But soon he starts to accept, and even join them in their ways.
1. Sleep of the Damned

Standalone is such a beautiful, beautiful word when you're doing just that; standing alone. I don't mean alone, without people; I mean completely, utterly, undeniably _alone_. Inside and out. So alone and so very _dark_, and distorted, and rendered useless. Standalone.

To be more specific, standing alone at the top of a simple foothill, that rose so low compared to the mountains but so high above the canopy of trees. How powerful I felt, looking all around, seeing the miniscule stone structure of Leyawiin miles away. I loved looking to the south like that. The sunshine like a painting, whose yellow ink covered the expanse of Cyrodill as we descended into nightfall.

I closed my eyes. To be able to go back. To be able to apologize and have things go back to the way they were; to just go back to him, to the days when we fought side by side like brothers. The brothers that we were, by soul. Damn the Nine. Damn the world.

I pushed the sullen thoughts aside and started to slide down the hill, safe from all the pestering thoughts that came in twilight. I was now below the canopy, in my own place of content, where no one could find me. No one…

Could find me.

I awoke several hours later, fazed. The sun was gone, the darkness having overtaken Cyrodill. All dark. All so very dark and depressing and _disturbed_, because the dark is where the wild creatures come to kill the innocent and weak and eat their remains and bring their bodies to the lakesides of the Imperial City for the world to see.

I hated the dark. Still do, to this very day. I experience it every day on the inside. Why, now, does it have to plague my aura on the outside, as well?

So I stood, my half bare feet, clothed in badly worn rough leather shoes, getting poked by sticks and stones that had only moments ago been biting at my back. I snatched my oh – so – pathetic shortsword from its carefully crafted leather sheath and raised it to my face, placing my right hand right under the tip of the handle, and my left behind me and to my side, as I had been taught so many years ago by Blackwood Company. I could still recall the day; it had been but a week before the incident, dad's final mission.

I sighed. In the back of my mind, I knew he wasn't dead; I didn't want him to be, no, but I wanted to think he was. It was just the kind of thought that you think without thinking, and hardly remember thinking at all. I knew he was somewhere, hiding, waiting for the moment to strike back at the world that had taken so much from him.

I pondered where I could go. I had four options, which was why I loved being here, right at the edge of Niben bay, or even at the Kvatch ruins, so much; options. Of where to go, of what to hunt, of who to meet, of who to fight; options. That was also why city folk made no sense to me. Why stay in one place, when you can be everywhere?

So I decided to go to Bravil; to see what went on in the city of the Lucky old Lady. It was, in fact, one of the few cities I didn't frequent; probably because of it's boring scenery, and the annoying river that runs through the center.

It was a short swim. No slaughterfish to slaugher, no islands to map, none of the mild distractions that keep you busy during a swim. Just a silent swim, from one place to the next. It made me feel like the spy that everyone craved to be, going, under cover of night, from one place, one life, to the next.

When I got out of the water and stood on the trail that led to Bravil, I saw the damage done by the water. My black robe dripped wet and clung to my Argonian form. I shook my body to clear it of some water and then started the short walk down the trail to Bravil. I looked up at the moon to see the time (in my time in the forest, I'd learned to rely on things that would always be present, rather than worldly possessions) and determined that it was sometime around one in the morning. So, I assumed, everything would be closed, except perhaps some guild halls and inns.

The guard's form came into my view. A torch illuminated him, and another, along with a horse standing next to one. I nodded to them and entered the city through the massive gates.

As soon as I entered the city and saw the few people stepping along the streets, I had a lust to accomplish something. To give my life meaning. But I knew that that "something" was going to take place _here_, in the wet recesses of a pathetic city that is Bravil.

I kept that in mind. But first, I'd need to sleep, and review what I had. Then, tomorrow, I could go and find a job. Find a purpose.

Because tomorrow, everything would be better.

I stepped inside the first inn that came into view. My eyes didn't take time to read the name, I just popped in and grabbed 10 Septims from my robe pocket. The man, suspicious of my hastiness, slowly dropped a key on the counter.

"Last door on the right." He semi – hissed. I mentally laughed at his attempt, and brought on my best Argonian, reptilian accent.

"Thanksss." My voice felt like a snake.

I stepped upstairs, followed his instructions, and entered the last door on the right. The second I closed the door, I threw off my bag and leaned against the wall, burying my head in my hands. That had been the last of my money, and my pack was empty but for some venison, a series of stolen keys, a set of ogre's teeth, and some maps.

I sighed and lay down on the bed. My life was in shambles. All I had to show for my travels was a half empty bag of useless possessions. I'd have disappointed my father. I'd have disappointed Tram. I _had_ disappointed myself.

My eyes finally shut and I drifted off to sleep, to a dream – world where no earthly problems could hurt me.

"Sleep, child," Said something beside me. "Soon it will all be better."


	2. Underground Sanctuary

My eyes slowly parted

My eyes slowly parted. Everything was fuzzy, but over that, everything was dark. I closed them again.

A minute, or maybe an hour, or maybe several days later, I reopened them. Things were less fuzzy, and sort of lighter. I looked around with my eyes, but found my head rooted in place by a steel collar. The same type of steel circles also bound my hand and feet. A few minutes after opening my eyes, someone shouted from the room I was in.

"He's up! He's up!"

Immediately a crowd gathered around me. They all wore black cloaks, with some symbol on the upper left side.

"Wh- where am I?" I mumbled. It hurt to talk.

"The den," said one of them. She was a Khajiit, and spoke as though I had done something wrong. Her catlike form pushed past the others to stand right in front of me. I stared.

"He's not the one, you imbeciles. Where'd you find him?"

"But Santra…" one uttered. "He had the hood! And the maps!" The Dark Elf held some of my things, an enchanted hood and a series of maps, up to her. She snatched them all away, and I saw some of my maps fall to the ground.

"Where'd you find these?" She questioned furiously.

If you can cower while chained up, I did so. "I had the hood made for me by some friends at the Arcane University. The maps… I – I think I got those from someone outside the Imperial City." I couldn't recall; I'd had them for so long.

"_Do you have any idea what these maps have_?" She pointed to some of the spots that are marked off on the maps; Fort Nikel, Charcoal Cave, and the Blind Month Monastery, to name a few.

"What are you talking about? By the Nine, woman, I just woke up and I was here. Now you're asking me about my maps?! What in Oblivion do you want me to say?"

"These places aren't supposed to be known by mortals like you." She threw down the maps, and hung her head in defeat. "They aren't supposed to be known by anyone." Then her rage boiled up once again, and she pushed me hard into the stone slab. "_Those are sanctuaries! Peaceful embassies for our people!_" She lowered her right hand once again, slowly stroking my face eerily, then she raised her right hand and punched me right in the nose. "So bring forth the proof that you're one of us, or we'll have to kill you."

One of her servants, wearing gray robes, stepped up and held a dagger for her to take. He gave me a sympathetic look, partially of despair, and stepped away once again.

The Daedric dagger, buzzing with electricity, stayed stationary at her side for a moment, before she used a telekinesis spell, or variation of one, to raise it up to my throat. I tried to pull my throat away, but it was chained down.

I didn't know how to respond. I just cried out in despair and fear, trying to get the attention of anyone who might hear me. The crowd gathered around Santra just stared at me, all with malicious but secretly curious and even empathetic looks. She stared deep into my eyes, her gaze making my breath shallow. She frightened me so far out of my wits; I tried harder to avoid the dagger, but it was dangerously close to my neck.

Without even speaking, she made the dagger swing to the left, and in the split second before it went flying at my throat, an arrow pierced it's Daedric blade and sent it crashing to the wall, lighting and sparks leaving a trail.

"Stop." And I heard that one voice that I'd avoided and craved and hated and prayed for. It was the voice of Gale; the one person who I was thinking the least about at the moment, but now he swelled up in me once again. My eyes went wide. He stood under a circle, looking like he'd removed a manhole, of moonlight, which revealed how he'd entered. His bow was drawn.

"Seer!" Screamed Santra. "You shall never invade on a ritual of such importance! Leave the sanctuary or face your punishment!"

"He's telling the truth. He got the hood from an Imperial City member at the Arcane University; it has a basic reflect damage enchantment. You can meet him. The Maps are from a member at Weye; he lives at the inn there. " Gale gave me some bland glances as he spoke.

Santra snatched up the dagger and pointed it in his direction. "Fine," she said, still aggravated. "Someone go to Weye and the Arcane University. Find a member." A door slid open somewhere to my left and they all disappeared, except for Gale.

He unchained me, aggravated. I slid to the floor for a second but regained my balance and brushed myself off.

"Thanks," I gave a smile. He just stared.

"This doesn't change a thing," he said, firmly, with a malevolent look on his face. He pulled a shortsword out from his sheath to add to his point. As he spoke, he tapped in on my chest. Its ebony blade stung. "Not. A. Thing."

Then he sheathed it again, staring me in the eyes before he stepped away. I noticed the nice, enchanted fur boots he wore, which padded his footsteps.

"Wha… what should I do now?"

He waved his hand, and a door opened opposite the one he'd left through. I stared into its uninviting hall. "Make yourself at home," he called before his door closed again.

I turned back to the stone slab that only minutes ago I had been attached to, and rubbed my wrists, remembering the odd feeling. The stone slab did present a nice seat though, when I discovered that it could be moved back and forth.

I sat and sighed. I was very suspicious of the place. How could I make myself at home when just two seconds ago the leader of the place was about to electrocute me? And I felt _especially_ uncomfortable in the same place as Gale was.

Gale. Gale and I had been best friends, partners, blood brothers, for so long. We'd fought back to back, fought off armies, fought off creatures, fought off the world. He'd been there for me, and I too, for as long as I could remember. We'd split both of our monthly profits perfectly evenly; if there was extra cash, we burnt it in a fireplace or gave it to the beggars. We'd agreed on every little thing to agree on.

We'd been fighting off Daedra in an Oblivion Gate, mainly Dremora. My advanced conjuration skill always helped us; a Frost Atronach to keep the rest at bay so we could focus on just one.

He'd been wearing Daedric armor, that I swore was _so_,_ so_ close to that of the Dremora. His half – Dunmer heritage gave his skin an oily purple hue, and I swear I would have mistaken him for a Dremora.

Which is exactly what I did.

I swung around and stabbed a Dremora right in the skull, adding to a Snowball attack from my Frost Atronach, a combination that sent him flying. I stole his Daedric longsword, identical in most ways to the one I'd been using, swung around, and stabbed another Dremora with both right in the stomach. My swords slid beautifully through the slits in his armor, and I was proud to see the maneuver I had planned come to life.

I looked up, into the purple face looking down on me from the eyeholes on the helmet. I smiled and cracked the butt of my original sword against his skull, with the other whacking it against his side.

Then I saw that the green eyes that had stared down to me were those of Gale. And it was that moment, when he thought I'd known it was him, that our friendship ended abruptly. I'd tried so hard to explain to him how much like a Dremora he'd looked; he just took it as an insult and left me alone. _I_ was the one who'd brought him to Anvil, carrying him on my back for four miles, to the best healing mages, the _only_ healing mages, for a mile. _I'd_ stayed by his side for three days as he healed. And _I'd _gone to his family in Chorrol, to tell them what had happened. They believed me.

He made stupid claims. Apparently, I knew that Dremora could only have purple eyes. That they could only have gray skin. Other untrue, foolish points that I could've disproved had he given me the chance.

So, that's the story. I guess I've sort of recalled him everyday, remembered the time we had. All gone to waste.

I gave a confused sigh. Surely I'd figure it out someday; my death wouldn't come before an apology.

Ok, a successful apology.

My head turned to the darkened hall to my right, and gave a slow shake of my head, proceeding down its recesses. It enveloped me and then the stone slab fell, closing it. Fire lit the rest, from torches, most hanging from the ceiling, though some were planted on the walls. Doors dotted them, appearing reddish in the torchlight. Reeking scents emanating from their hollows warned me to stay away.

I proceeded down the hall, turning a corner at its end and encountering another member. I exhaled in a relieved fashion and immediately spoke up.

"Oh, thank the Nine, somebody. Who _are_ you people? I mean… what is this place?"

The Imperial smiled kindly at me. "We are the Tree of Shadows. Well, a branch." I didn't laugh. "See, we are like all – purpose assassins."

"Assassins?"

"Well, we are something of the Dark Brotherhood, but for all problems. Of course, assassinations, but also we help in battles, we will overtake fortresses and castles, we will decipher codes, pick locks, kill ghosts, forge weapons, burn towers, alter the outcome of wars, kidnap kings, churn whole _empires_."

"This takes training?"

"Well, we have specialists, that collaborate to complete a task. A sneak, lockpick, marksman and conjurer could probably kill the Countess of Bruma."

"Should I be afraid?"

She laughed loudly. "We don't attack outsiders. Sorry about Santra; she's very suspicious, but is pretty good about keeping us under the radar. Just let her be; I trust you about the maps and hood."

I gave a smile, and then started to admire the Tree. They seemed nice enough, simply followed orders down to the last detail, followed through, left without a trace. Relied on teamwork and union.

"What's your name?" I finally asked.

"Sally."

"Sally. Well, Sally, I'd like to become a leaf on this dark, sickly tree."


	3. Sentry

She looked surprised. "What? No… Santra and Gale have made it clear that they don't want you here, and I can't take you in unless they approve… Gale is very highly ranked."

I frowned. "Please. I have nowhere to go. This is my only option!"

She sighed, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, we don't have any empty… well that's odd."

"What?" I asked.

Sally checked the sheet of parchment she was holding closely. "Well, a spot just opened up for sentry, which must mean Jeb died… I guess I'd understand, they're on that Imperial Army trip, but still… that's a damn shame." She looked up at me, then shook her head with a half – kind half – sinister snicker. "You _definitely_ don't look like a sentry type."

I was taken aback. "Hey!"

"I'm sorry," she responded, serious now. "We just can't take you in. You could apply for a job with Santra, but I doubt she'd let you in." As she spoke, she directed me to Santra's office with her hands.

I nodded. "I guess I have no choice, eh?"

As I walked away, she called me again.

"Oh, and don't forget; to be a sentry, you'll need some fighting skills. Marksmanship, swordsmanship, athletics, acrobatics. I'd suggest a little magic experience too. Sentries are sort of all – around guys, and they usually have some experience within the guild. But, hey, I guess it's worth a shot." She waved me off, and I followed where she'd been gesturing. It led me through several rooms, some being easily identified as dining rooms and bunkrooms, until I reached a closed and locked oaken door with a tree carved into it. I took a deep breath and knocked.

Santra opened the door, saw me, hissed, and closed it.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have had those things," I yelled, trying to make amends.

"Go away," She responded furiously.

"I can help you."

"Die, liar."

"I heard about Jeb. I want to become a sentry."

The door swung slowly open. She stood there, and for the first time I realized that I was over a head taller than her. "Well then. Come in."

I stepped inside. It was a darkened room, skulls, poisons, and books illuminated by wax candles on bookshelves. Her desk was littered with important – looking papers and files. She took a seat, forcing me to stand alone. Right back where I started from.

"So you, the rat, want to become a sentry?"

I nodded nervously.

"Well. Are you a man of the forest? Can you survive without other people for weeks on end? Can you hit a bullseye in one shot? Can you decapitate an ogre with a strong swing? Can you jump five feet in the air? How fast are you? What is your country of origin? Could you kill a mountain lion without him ever seeing you? What is your magic status?" This went on for about half an hour. She wrote the answers down as I spoke them.

Having survived there for several months, I was. Well, yes, see above. Not really; my shot wasn't greatly accurate. No, but I could stab one through the stomach in one quick jab. Yes. About three quarters the speed of a horse or unicorn. Black Marsh. With a weapon, yes; otherwise no. I'm pretty good at destruction; with a good spell, I could take out a well – armored group of guards.

"Your answers don't point to sentry. They point to, get out. _Now_."

"Wait, Santra. Wait. I do have a secret. It will enhance my abilities tenfold, and I will be able to help you for as long as I'm needed whenever I'm needed, unlike regular Imperial recruits." I prepared myself for the process once again, slowly raising my right hand. I envisioned what I needed, tapped my foot, felt a powdery substance in my fingers, then got a tingly feeling all over my body. When I'd emerged from my magic cocoon, I was wearing the mix of well – crafted, dwarven and orcish armor that was summoned via the Hist Spell.

With a smile, I jumped, exceeding her expectations by two feet. I slid the summoned Hist Sword from its sheath and swung it at her bookshelf. It cut through the hardwood like an arrow through rice paper.

I continued to demonstrate the power brought on by the Hist Armor, ending it all with a shock spell that began to burn the room. Exhilarated, I fired a high – powered Frost spell to put out the blaze, then finally turned back to her and, with a soft _whoosh_, my proudest armor disappeared.

Santra was cowering in a corner, entranced by my power. The wreckage one spot on the wall was in demonstrated all that needed to be said.

She got up, staggered over to me, put a hand on my shoulder, and smiled.

"Congratulations, sentry." She muttered, scribbling on a piece of paper. "Make yourself at _home_." She shook my hand vigorously, then, as I exited the room with an air of pride, reminded me that whether it be a spell or potion or enchantment, I needed to _always_ keep that armor on hand somehow. I nodded, smiled, and closed the door.

"Ok then…" I thought. The exit had been a little too formal, like I'd just gotten a new job. Is that what these people thought of themselves as? A company?

I shrugged it off. No sense getting caught up in it. I had a purpose now, which was what mattered. So I backtracked my steps into the bunkroom, which had set of beds arranged in it. A little desk sat in one corner, and there were some bookshelves dotting each room. I bumped into someone as they left one, and I struck up a conversation.

"Oh! Sorry."

"My fault," I said. "I'm a new recruit. Do you know how to find my bed?"

The man chuckled. "Why would I?" he shook his head. "Sorry. What are you? Illusionist… brutalist?"

I shook my head. "Sentry."

His expression fell. It morphed into anger, depression, and some kind of weird glint in his eye that made me freaked out a little.

"Umm, yeah. You're in here." He gestured to the room that he'd just left. I nodded thanks, and he continued, bumping into my shoulder hard as he passed. I made a move that I knew to anger people already angry with you, and he stomped off. I stared as he faded down the hall, then entered the room. It was identical to the rest, though it was in darkness. Scared to get him madder than he already was, I just felt my way around to the cleanest bed, that didn't have anything occupying it or the drawers beside it, and then sat down.

"Sorry about him." Sarah was standing at the door, leaning lightly on it.

"What's wrong with him? Are sentries looked down upon?"

"No, but there's a lot of competition here. Look." She pulled some pieces of parchment out of her pockets, cast a minor light spell, then shined her hands on the papers, and sat down next to me. "See, these are the rankings. It's where people are in their class. You're a sentry, so these are the sentry rankings."

One sheet had ten people on it. There were a few more boxes beside that, filled with numbers. I noted each name and the corresponding numbers as my eyes ran down the sheet.

She held up the other. "These are the overall rankings for classes. You're at the bottom, because you're new." She found my name. 25. 0. 0. Ar.

That's your age, missions completed, kills, and race.

I nodded slowly, understanding. "Do I have to tell Santra or someone all this after a mission?" I asked.

She shook her head. "We have monitors… around. They'll tell us."

"Ok. Anything else I should know?"

"Not much. You'll learn stuff on the job. I'd get some sleep. When you wake up, go two rooms down. You'll find a key for the room in your drawers. Open it, check the chest on your left. Find a sheet with your name on it. That's this months missions for you."

I laughed at how organized this all was. I would've expected savage assassins, killing kings for profit. But they were really smart about it all.

"Oh, and don't use the word assassins," she added. "Members here _hate_ it."

I nodded, then she left the room, closing the door. The light from her spell cut off, leaving me in darkness. I lay down slowly, and closed my eyes. I had always been comfortable enough with killing… well, fighting. I was just naïve enough to join this group, and I was adjusting to they're ways well enough. I was starting to enjoy having a bed, having food, having a home, and having a job, all in the same place.

With a half – smile, I lay down to sleep. Slowly, the shadows overtook me.

As did a pair of razor – sharp teeth.

--

I awoke in terror, surprised by the dark. I was shocked. This _so_ wasn't Bravil.

Fright filled me. I grasped invisible objects, rolling out of my bed. The room shook on my impact. I got up and felt around, scared every other second by the cold, unfamiliar feelings that I got. Finally, what felt like a door handle met my leathery scales, and I ripped open the door. My eyes went wide upon realizing that I was only in the Tree of Shadows headquarters.

I dropped my head. A slight headache hit me, and I gave a little moan of displeasure, but I kept up the thought process. Memories from last night reminded me to go the room to doors down. I jiggled the doorknob, found it locked, and then gave a louder moan.

I passed someone on the way back to my room, and they commented.

"You look ill. Have you seen a healer lately?"

"Headache," I muttered, brushing past him.

I stepped into my room, finding the man I had encountered in the bunk above me. His Breton skin was richer than last night, paler nonetheless. I ignored the signs, and opened my drawer. A gold key, labeled with Elven symbols, lay there, next to a black robe. I removed them both, donning the robe and bringing the key back to the door. I opened it wide this time, and a room was revealed, empty but for a chest. The key also opened the chest, where I found two stacks of parchment, each with names on the top. I found mine at the bottom, and pulled it out.


End file.
